


Sorry

by PaxVobis



Series: Original Album Series [6]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Drabble, Episode: S2e14 Dethsources, First Kiss, Getting Real Sloppy, Intoxication, Limousines, M/M, References to Addiction, References to Depression, Snakes N' Barrels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: In a lonely moment on the dark, intoxicated side of their Dethsources Boys Night Out, Pickles steals a kiss.





	

**Author's Note:**

> sad little drabble after the guns n roses concert. i live for your comments, as always.

It was at the very end of the night that Pickles kissed him.  Beyond any point of salvation, the rest of the boys passed out around them in the limo save for Nathan, staring vacantly out the window in his stewing tequila mood, and the drummer sat squashed up next to his intoxicated manager in the back of the dark car.  And that shitty old song had come on the radio that filled the space between where the boys refused to speak. 

Liquid Sunshine, the one Pickles had made his millions from back when millions were impressive and not just pocket change beside Dethklok.  Charles knew he hated it, hated the reminder. Heroin was a cold-lipped phantom that stood in the drummer’s shadow, the suggestion, the breath of a death that was certainly waiting for him.  In the difficult silence that unfurled over them as the song wheeled into its guitar solo, Charles turned his drink-heavy head towards the drummer with an awkward roll, barely reading his empty face, staring straight ahead into the dark upholstery. 

“I’ll get them to turn it off,” croaked the manager, going to stand up, but Pickles pulled him back down with a gentle tug on his jacket pocket.  His fingers, clumsy with shots on shots on shots, stayed tangled there.

“Naw, it’s - whatever, leave it,” he slurred, and the voice of heroin-addict Pickles sneered out from the speakers, cracked like old vinyl and sounding far away.  In the silence, Charles could feel the drummer’s short fingers fidgeting with his pocket, but was too drunk to shrug off the affection.  Let him have the moment, if he so wished. 

For Charles, he’d already had enough moments; harassed Nathan within an inch of his patience and vomited on Murderface.  Dark times.  In the sluggish pause, his head dropped with exhaustion and nausea to nudge Pickles, and the smaller man just sighed at his patheticness – flopped over almost on top of him – moved Charles’ head to a more comfortable place on his bare shoulder, and let it happen.

“You okay dere,” he heard Pickles murmur, and raised his eyes to see the drummer suddenly far closer than he’d expected.  And it wasn’t a question.  The song had reached its middle-eight, and Pickles tapped his knee to the driving rhythm, listening closely as he looked away again.

“I used ta be such a tragic, huh.  Glad dat’s over,” he remarked, and sat up slightly, Charles’ cheek smushed numb against his skinny shoulder.  “Nathan.  Nathan.  Hey.  Aren’tcha glad dat’s over.”

But Nathan didn’t move.

“Nope.  Nut’in.  Lost ‘im,” said Pickles, and looked back at Charles with a wry smile.  “Lost you too, ain’t we?” And all Charles could do was pull a pathetic shrug, smiling dumbly back.

“Dat’s okay.  I lost me long ago and I get on fine.  Save like, dese times – I don’t even miss dat guy,” said Pickles quietly, and with Nathan lost to the world, Charles thought he must be the only person who heard it.  He wished he could say something, but he’d forfeited the power of speech about an hour and a shot of something blue ago.

Pickles just sat there looking at him, his green eyes an empty grey-black in the reddened dark, and then all at once his hand wrung into Charles’ pocket, the drummer’s other palm settling warm and soft on the manager’s cheek and bringing his face up into a brief and stolen kiss that seemed to Charles a blur of numb lips, dragged teeth, bourbon and stubble.

As quickly as he’d taken hold of him, Pickles released the manager and let him fall back in his seat again, the drummer sliding down in his own seat against Charles’ side.  He gave a short sigh, and looked out the window.  “Sarry.  Dat was better in my head, y’know.  But I ain’t feelin it.”

“’Sokay,” rasped Charles, and licked his chafed lips weirdly.  He hadn’t felt it either.  But the touch had been nice, even so.


End file.
